The Dead Don't Speak (17 page)

"So what is this?" Pushkin asked himself aloud. "Girl gets plowed into by a car in a parking garage."

What kind of idiot steals a Ford Taurus? In a city like Las Vegas, there were plenty of flashy cars around with owners who had more money than brains. Why steal this ugly, black heap?

And what about Sarah's friend? The one they found dead north of the city; what was the connection? She was last seen the same night as the hit and run. They were best friends, did a lot together.

The two were connected. Pushkin was sure of that much.

"So what," Pushkin said to the interior of the car. "Someone kills the girl at the casino, steals this car because it's parked close to the door, and runs the other girl over while trying to escape?"

It wasn't a kidnapping. Pushkin saw the file on Cassandra Hernandez. Her dad, Humberto, didn't have anything more than a savings account with a five digit balance including what came after the decimal point. Pretty girl like her getting murdered and dumped in the desert, it would draw some attention, Pushkin thought.

"Or maybe the girl who was run over was somehow involved in the murder?"

Not likely.

That kind of evil back-stabbing was best left to Hollywood. People don't do that.

Not without a good reason.

"Okay. Two friends are at the casino together waiting in the parking garage. Waiting for what? Sarah's waiting for Cassandra. What's Cassandra doing in the casino? Why didn't Sarah go with her?"

Pushkin sighed and slouched, his knees hitting the back of the seat in front of him. That's when he remembered the security footage. Where the hell was it? Leonard Murdock had yet to contact him.

His cell phone vibrated, interrupting his train of thought. He'd received a text.

"Blood on hood matches Sarah Carter. Blood in trunk matches Cassandra Hernandez. Paint from vehicle consistent with that found on Sarah Carter's clothing. Fiber sample from trunk consistent with fibers found with Cassandra Hernandez."

Daphne read in the Las Vegas Herald about the discovery of Cassandra's body. She drove out to Sunrise Manor to visit Humberto. Daphne wanted to see if he needed anything and to make a suggestion. The exterior of the house looked neater. The pile of newspapers by the front door were gone. The litter that had decorated the yard was picked up. The statue of some saint, Daphne could never tell them apart, was standing proudly beneath a miniature arch.

Daphne wrapped her knuckles on the door. Five seconds later Humberto Hernandez opened it for her.

"Mrs. Carter," he said.

"Humberto, good to see you." Daphne reached through the threshold and put a hand on his shoulder. "I heard about Cassandra. I am so sorry."

Humberto nodded, his posture slackening. He said, "Is very bad. My little girl is gone." His shoulders shook a little as he strained to say, "I miss her every day." He composed himself and asked, "How is your Sarah?"

Daphne's throat tightened, a large knot forming. "Not good…" she faltered. With a loud exhale through pursed lips, Daphne continued, "They are taking her off life support today."

Humberto looked at the ground. "We are curs-ed parents," he said, his voice raspy. He sniffled once. Humberto lifted his head, remembering his manners, "Come in, please."

Daphne was impressed at how far Humberto had come since when she last saw him. Daphne was fairly certain he had been on the verge of suicide. Well, he hadn't turned around entirely; Humberto carried a pronounced sadness in his countenance and his features sagged with the weight of it. But he'd cleaned the place up. That was progress.

"Please, sit down," Humberto said.

Daphne took a seat on the couch. Humberto sat in the same recliner Daphne discovered him in when they first met. Daphne looked around the room, nodding approval.

"I cleaned up," Humberto said.

"It looks nice." Daphne leaned forward on the couch. "The reason I stopped by is…" she faltered, not sure how to proceed. "The reason is, I met a boy a couple days ago. He has a gift."

"Gift?"

"He's a medium. He can hear the dead."

"Ay dios mio," Humberto blurted and crossed himself.

Daphne smiled, "Calm down Humberto. It's nothing sinister, I promise you. He's just a boy with a unique gift. I was thinking I could take you to see him and maybe he would be able to hear Cassandra. He could help us learn who did this terrible thing to her."

"I don't know," Humberto said with effort. He looked a little pale.

"What can it hurt?"

"The living are not supposed to contact the other side. It is evil. We could lose our souls!"

Daphne changed her tact, "Do you really believe God would do that? After what happened to our daughters?"

Humberto considered this for a long time. Finally he said, "Okay, I will see your boy. God will look after me."

From Humberto's couch, Daphne placed a phone call to Dylan Tovak's assistant, Molly.

"Dylan Tovak's office. Molly speaking."

"Molly, hi. This is Daphne Carter, calling. I was hoping you might be able to get me some information."

"Sure, Ms. Carter, what do you need?"

"Dylan got that family, the Hepsons, one of the corporate houses. I wanted to stop by and say hello. Could you tell me which one they're in and let them know I'll be stopping by?"

"Sure thing, just a minute." Daphne could hear Molly typing for a moment and then she said, "Looks like they're in number eleven. What time should I tell them?"

"On second thought, I'll call them," Daphne said. "You happen to have the number?"

Molly gave her the phone number assigned to the house.

"Thank you, dear," Daphne said.

Next she dialed the Hepsons' home. Cayte answered.

"Hello?"

"Hi, this is Daphne Carter calling. I'm CFO at Versailles. Who am I speaking with?"

"Cayte."

"You're the daughter, correct? You sing?"

"That's right."

"Listen, Cayte, I was planning on stopping out there today to see Zach."

"What for?" Cayte asked, sounding concerned.

"Have you heard about the girl they found in the desert?"

"Yes. Zach told me about that. It is so sad what happened to her."

"I am friends with her father. I wanted to bring him out to see Zach, maybe get the poor man some closure, you know?"

"I think that would be fine," Cayte said. "I’ll tell Zach to expect you."

"Great, thanks, Cayte."

"You're welcome. Take care now."

"You, too. Goodbye." Daphne hung up.

Daphne and Humberto drove to the corporate village in her Mercedes and located number eleven. They climbed the stoop and Daphne rang the doorbell.

Cayte answered the door. Daphne had expected Zach, since she'd phoned ahead to warn him of their arrival, to answer. It was difficult for both parents who had recently lost their daughters to be confronted with a teenage girl.

A quick read of their faces told Cayte all she needed to know.

"Come in, please," she said.

The two followed her to the kitchen where they took seats at the bar.

"Can I get you anything?" Cayte asked. Then explained, "Zach will be down shortly. He's just getting out of the shower."

"Water's good," Daphne said. Humberto didn't speak but nodded his agreement.

Cayte got two glasses of ice-water and disappeared. As promised, Zach walked into the kitchen a couple of minutes later.

Daphne introduced Zach to Humberto then said, "I feel I owe you an apology, Zach. I was less than friendly to you at the hospital."

"It's all right," Zach said. He turned his attention to the man who accompanied Daphne. "Mr. Hernandez, is it okay if I listen for you?"

Humberto looked at Daphne, who nodded. He hadn't known what to expect. This kind of thing was very much outside of Humberto's wheelhouse. He'd had muted expectations that did not include a twelve-year-old boy with wet hair, wearing shorts and a tee-shirt, passing him a message from beyond the grave.

Humberto nodded to Zach. He stood across the counter from Daphne and Humberto. Once again he closed his eyes. Having been given some notice Zach had Googled for information about Cassandra Hernandez. He was fully prepared for this. Also, he had a pretty good idea what Daphne Carter really wanted. After her question to him in the hospital about people who do bad things being punished, Zach was sure Daphne Carter was looking for permission to get revenge. He was a little surprised it wasn’t Sarah’s dad, Tim, who was on the quest for blood. It didn’t matter; Zach was ready to give his permission. Fact was he needed Daphne on his side.

"Whoa," Zach said and looked at Daphne after only a couple of seconds.

Daphne gestured with a hand to Humberto.

"I am hearing your daughter, Cassandra."

Humberto fidgeted in his seat.

"Oh my god," Zach said in a breathy voice, "she is speaking so fast and like..." he paused to think of the right word, "forcefully."

"What she saying?" Humberto asked.

"A man strangled her," Zach said.

As if of its own accord a thought came to Zach. Almost like the kind he pretended to receive, except he knew it was his mind connecting dots.

Humberto is poor. Daphne is rich. Why are they here together? They have daughters either dead or on their way out. They wouldn’t have met in the hospital since Cassandra never made it there. The girls knew each other. Cassandra and Sarah were friends. If they both died around the same time and these two financially disparate people are here to see me together, the deaths are probably related. That’s what Daphne wants. She’s not only looking for permission, she needs me to convince Humberto to take action with her.

“It was the same person,” Zach said. He opened his eyes so the parents could see the sincerity there, “The same man murdered both of your daughters.”

Neither Daphne nor Humberto reacted. "You already knew?" Zach asked.

"We wanted to make sure," Daphne said.

"You have to tell the police!" He knew this wouldn’t happen, not with the two sets of eyes he was looking into. Someone was going to disappear.
BLOOP
, right off the face of the Earth.

"Zach, if what you heard is true, then that means Simon Simmons ran my daughter down in the parking lot and left her there to die. The last thing I'm going to do is tell the police."

Oh, man! This is too good. Simon Simmons of all people!

"I can see what you're thinking. It's written all over your face. Let me tell you my side of the story."

Zach nodded his consent, sure Daphne Carter hadn’t the slightest idea what he was thinking. If she’d known he was suppressing laughter she wouldn’t still be sitting in front of him.

"My daughter was run over by one, maybe two, people in a parking garage. There were skid marks showing where they stopped the vehicle. They got out, saw she was bleeding, and left her for dead. My little girl was lying all by herself, bleeding on the concrete, thinking she was never going to be able to see any of her loved ones again, that she was dying alone. Whoever did it drove off without a second thought.

"The girl they'd found in the desert, Humberto's daughter, Cassandra, was most likely strangled by the same man or men who did this to my daughter. They brought her to the desert, never to be heard from again, or so they hoped.

"When you have children you will understand," Daphne said. "But for now, imagine how you would feel if any of that happened to Cayte."

Zach and Daphne held each other’s gaze for twenty seconds before Daphne blinked.

"Okay," Zach said.

Charlotte Givens came into the office holding her customary cup of coffee. It had been almost a month since her trip to Vegas and she already needed another escape from her humdrum day-to-day. Winter was threatening to come early in Denver. Charlotte took the precaution of wearing a heavier jacket and was now regretting it as the moisture slid down her back in a tickling stream.

She arrived at her desk and set the coffee down. Her morning Starbucks would have to wait a few minutes. Charlotte logged on her PC as quickly as she could and navigated straight to eBay. Last night she'd put a bid on a very nice pair of platforms but fell asleep waiting to see if she'd won. When she woke up in the morning her laptop had died and she found she'd forgotten to set her alarm.

eBay informed Charlotte that she'd lost the auction by two dollars.

"C'est la vie," she said and took a sip of her coffee.

Charlotte brought up Yahoo on her computer to scan the headlines. What she found changed the entire course of her day.

As she scanned the thumbnails of trending stories a face popped out at her. It was a Hispanic girl who looked eerily familiar. Charlotte couldn't place her right away, so she scrolled over the thumbnail to bring the headline up. "Las Vegas Teen Found Dead in Desert." Seeing the face in a larger photo along with the reference to Las Vegas triggered Charlotte's memory.

"Holy crap," she said to herself. "It's
her
!"

The memory of going backstage to the green room, after the Simon Simmons show, flooded to the foreground of Charlotte's mind. She clicked the headline to read the whole article.

There wasn't much information. The news story asked anyone who may have details about Cassandra Hernandez to call the Clark County Sheriff's Office. The number was listed below.

Something from within told her to call the sheriff’s office. Charlotte picked up her desk phone, dialed 9 to get an outside line, and then called the number in the article.

This is stupid.

"Clark County Sheriff’s office," a man answered.

"Hi, my name is Charlotte Givens, I live in Denver. I just saw an article online about Cassandra Hernandez being found dead. I recently took a trip to Las Vegas and I saw her backstage at the Simon Simmons show."

The operator asked her to repeat her name and then transferred her to a deputy. The deputy took notes as Charlotte detailed the story for her, noting that Simon Simmons may have had sex with a girl under eighteen.

"Thank you for the call," the deputy said.

"No problem. I hope it helps," Charlotte replied. She'd begun to notice faces looking up over cubicle walls at her; this would be some juicy watercooler fodder.

*****

The bedside phone rang. "Detective Pushkin," Leon answered. He looked at his digital alarm clock. It told him to not even think about going back to sleep. The alarm would go off in seven minutes.

"Leon, this is Deputy Lance Stoffer with the Clark County Sheriff’s Office calling. I was told to pass this information on to you; early this morning I spoke with a woman named Charlotte Givens..."

Deputy Stoffer laid out the whole story for Puskin.

"Thanks for the call, Deputy," Pushkin said and hung up.

The detective rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. He had what he needed now. He could place Cassandra with Simon Simmons prior to the night of her disappearance. Now he needed to get the damn security footage from Camelot. It was time to become insistent.

Pushkin grabbed his cell phone off the bedside table. He brought up Leonard Murdock's contact and hit Send.

Two rings later he heard, "Leonard Murdock."

"Mr. Murdock, Detective Pushkin here. I'm following up on the Sarah Carter hit and run. I think there's a connection with the girl, Cassandra Hernandez, they found in the desert. I am going to need to come down there and go through two weeks of tapes. Can you have a set-up ready for me?"

"What dates do you need? From when to when? And which cameras?"

Pushkin gave him the dates and the angles he was interested in.

"All right, I’ll have someone get you set up. They’ll be ready when you get here."

"Thanks a lot, Mr. Murdock." It was about time the casino “suit” was compliant.

"No problem." Lenny hung up the phone and said, "Fuck."

He immediately called Daphne.

"Lenny?" Daphne answered.

"Daphne, I just received a call from Leon Pushkin. He's coming down here this morning to check out tapes from Simon Simmons' floor. I think he's close to making an arrest."

"No worries, Lenny. Thanks for the heads-up," Daphne hung up.

Lenny inwardly thanked his friend for saying little, since he'd made the mistake of calling from his office phone. Sometimes Lenny envied his former self, sitting behind a desk, running a prison. Life was simpler when all he had to worry about was keeping the criminals in their cages.

*****

Daphne noticed the phone number from her cell's caller ID was Lenny's office line. He was a good guy and a true friend, but he could forget the little things, though never in his work. As a security professional he was meticulous.

The reason there were no worries, as Daphne had said, was because she was parked outside of Chris Wright's house, in a van she'd purchased from a used car lot for cash. Daphne wasn't so desperate she would grab Simmons in broad daylight, but she wanted to make sure the bastard was home at night. If the detective showed up before sunset, Daphne would deal with the situation however she could. Simmons would be vulnerable in jail and Lenny had connections. Daphne shook her head, banishing the thought. While he probably knew what she was up to, she did not want to get Lenny mixed up in a murder.

As Daphne kept watch over the home, a taxi pulled up and a man carrying a small travel bag got out. She recognized Chris and wondered how involved he was in what had happened to Sarah. Chances were he'd had a hand in part of it, perhaps he'd even dumped poor Cassandra in the desert.

Chris looked considerably better than Simmons’s recent appearance. Daphne had caught glimpses of Simmons stumbling around inside the small house with her Nikon binoculars. She considered the possibility that Chris was the brains of the duo. Maybe Simmons had let his emotions get the best of him and done something foolish, then Chris shows up to help him out of a jam. Either way the plan was to grab Simmons and get some answers.

It was clear Simmons was the weaker of the two and Daphne needed to be certain of who did what before she took any drastic action. Well, aside from some minor kidnapping.

Daphne's phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out and saw it was Tim calling.

"Tim?" she answered.

"She's gone, Daph. Sarah is gone."

Daphne had known this news was coming but that didn't make it easier. She blinked once... twice... three times. Where were the tears? Instead of the white hot rage she'd expected there was an icy feeling in her stomach. Heat rushed to her cheeks and she gripped the binoculars a little tighter. "I'm watching the prick right now."

"Finish this as soon as you can. I need my wife."

"I will. I promise."

*****

Once out of the hospital Walter had spent the night at a homeless shelter. It wasn’t as swanky as he could afford with the money from Tovak, but it kept him off the grid. He now lay on an Army surplus cot hugging his shopping bag with all the strength the pain in his back would allow. He'd survived the night unmolested and was happy to see the light of dawn peek through the dirty windows.

Walter took the shelter up on their offer for a free breakfast. While eating, he noticed many of the homeless people were giving him long looks. It was his clothes, he knew; he was the best-dressed bum in all of Las Vegas. Walter offered to help out in the kitchen doing dishes and stayed just long enough to get his hands on a knife. It was nothing special, only a steak knife, but it would be enough if one of the homeless guys tried to roll him when he left.

No one tried anything. Walter walked toward downtown until he was in an area where taxis weren't afraid to pick people up. He hailed one and instructed the driver to take him to a liquor store in North Vegas, any liquor store. The driver obliged and received a hundred dollars for a forty-dollar ride.

"Thanks, mister," the driver said.

Walter didn't move, "Can I ask you somethin'?" He glanced at the driver’s registration card on the passenger side of the glass window that divided the passenger portion of the cab from the driver’s seat. The driver’s name was Thomas. “Can I ask you somethin’, Thomas?” he repeated.

"Sure."

"I am looking for somethin' that might not be a hunder’d percent legal."

"What's that?"

"Here," Walter leaned forward and opened the bag so Thomas could see inside.

The man's eyes went wide when he saw the bundles of cash.

"Damn, man, you got to be careful walkin' around with that much money."

"That's what I'm gettin' at. I need a gun, for protection, you know?"

"You rob somebody?"

"No, no. Nothin' like that. I had some good luck is all."

"Ain't no good luck like Vegas good luck," Thomas said with a grin.

"I know it. So how 'bout it? Know where I can get a pistol without having to wait three days?"

Thomas smiled, Walter noticed he was missing a tooth on the bottom. The driver opened his glove box and came up with a black snub nose .38.

"That's a beaut'," Walter said.

"Sure is. I keep it in here in case I pick up some nut. Never know some nights, I tell ya'. So you want 'er?"

"How much?" Walter asked.

"You got a big ole pile of money there..." the driver said.

"Give you three grand for it," Walter said. Then he added, "How 'bout you empty the cylinder?"

The driver didn't move a muscle. This wasn't good. Walter could see he was rolling something around in his mind. Then, to Walter's relief, Thomas flopped the cylinder out and let the bullets fall free. They scattered on the floor of the cab. Thomas snapped it shut with a flick of the wrist and passed it through the sliding glass window that separated him from his fare.

Walter took the weapon, counted out sixty bills from a roll, and passed it through the window.

"Thanks, mister," Thomas said again.

"Thanks yourself," Walter said.

He dropped the gun in his bag of money and instructed Thomas to bring him to a store that sold ammo, where they would part ways.

*****

The smell of old booze and body odor hit Chris's nostrils.

"Oh, my god. What did you do in here?"

"'Oo, me? I jus had some drinks," Simon said, clearly intoxicated at 10:00AM.

"Some drinks? You're a goddamn mess! It'll take a week to air this place out."

"Chrisss, I'm glad I see you. I think I'm being wah-tched," Simon exhaled in Chris's face.

"Ugh! Brush your teeth. Your breath smells like a pile of dead skunks sat out in the sun too long."

Chris left Simon looking confused and went to his bedroom for some much needed sleep.

When Chris woke it was nearly dark. He checked his watch, it said 10:12PM. This confused him for a moment until he realized it was still on Miami time. Chris fortified himself mentally, then left his room to find Simon.

And find Simon he did! Passed out naked on the kitchen floor. The man who two weeks prior had been one of the hottest tickets in Las Vegas, laid there spread-eagle with his butt facing the ceiling. Chris stifled a laugh. Simon needed some serious help. And he hoped he would find it.

Chris went into the bathroom for a quick shower. Once clean and dried, he back to his bedroom and emptied the floor-safe of its contents. Just over a million dollars in cash went into his gym bag, then some clothes, and his toilet kit.

The packing took no time. Ten minutes later Chris Wright was dead and Daniel Bradley Cooper left the house to start life anew.